It tempts.

Insiduously. Pervasively. Continuously.

Type, it says.
Explain, it asks.
Details, it prompts for.
Go on, it tempts....let it all out.

Let loose the words. Unburden your mind from the weight of all those suppressed thoughts. Spill the stories that make up your life. Let the world know just who you are, and what you do, and why you think the way you do, and why you never did the things you wish you could, and why you don't know what you try to bluff your way through, and why you search so much for answers, for any answer, and how you learnt to love, and why you learnt to hate, and how much the world scares you, and how little of the world you feel you understand anymore, and what happens to you when you drink, and what you did on lazy summer afternoons when you were half the age you now are, and what you cook when you have to cook for yourself, and why your career took the course it has, and what you learnt from your parents, and their parents, and whether you have siblings, and how you feel about them, and what you think of when you see a clear night sky, and what your opinion is about jellybabies, and peanut butter, and stilettoes, and thrash metal, and abortion, and tie-and-dye prints, and long poems, and eve-teasing, and sun tans, and indie rock, and free trade, and adventure sports, and revolutions, and discos, and virtual reality, and childcare, and organic food, and all the little things that you see and hear and feel and think of and that make up this world and fill your life.

Type, it says.

See all the people reading. See all the people who type back. Think of how many more you could reach out to. Think of the difference you could make. Think of how you could spread a little more awareness, a little more knowledge. Think of how your words could change the life of some teenagers. Think of how your experiences could help somebody make sense of their own misery and grief, or help them to look beyond their little world and start bettering those of others. Think of all the friendships you are missing out on, all the fun lunches, and hilarious escapades, and concerts, and books that you could enjoy. Think of all the ways it could change your career, and all the columns you could be offered. Think of what would happen if you were no longer able to blog, because death or a maiming accident happened to intersect your future. Think of all the questions you would leave behind. Think of all the questions you bring up today, instead of providing answers.

Whatever happened to being heard, it asks.
Whatever happened to improving the world.
Whatever happened to improving your self.
Whatever happened to spontaneity.
Whatever happened to freedom.
Whatever happened to the truth.

Oh, it tempts.


lekhni said...

It's like a treadmill one cannot get off from. The more you write, and the more people read, the more frequently you feel compelled to write..

Falstaff said...

I love the logical progression from childcare to organic food ("Authentic Home-Style Babies" the ad would read).

On the other hand the idea of one's words changing the life of some teenager is positively scary.

??! said...

Got it in one. It's like watching daytime soap operas. You just get sucked in.

That it is. The net being the net, it's easy to not realise who exactly one's readership is. I've discovered some teenagers do visit here - and it does make me reconsider a few things that I might otherwise write. I could do without parental rage and attendant lawsuits.

Pri said...

yeah i've always wondered about bloggers dying and would happen to their blogs and their readers cause no one would be informed. that would be kinda tragic.

Anki said...


that hurt

Mo said...

@pri: They will become stars and watch over us.

??! said...

We should have a Death-Post ready. You know, like those letters that people write and give to friends, which should only be opened when they die. Yeh.

It wasn't meant to, and it wasn't saracastic or anything. Don't let it hurt.

heh. Nice.